


Electric Feel

by voluptuous_panic



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Collars, Dirty Talk, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, Domestic Fluff, Feminization, Light BDSM, M/M, Overstimulation, Phone Sex, Praise Kink, Sex Toys, Sharing Clothes, Sub Bucky Barnes, Vibrators, tiddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 17:54:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19214536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voluptuous_panic/pseuds/voluptuous_panic
Summary: Steve leaves a present for his boy.





	Electric Feel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thatsmysecret](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsmysecret/gifts).



> I was goaded into writing this, and I loved every second of it. There is not enough Sybian fic in the world.
> 
> If you aren't familiar with the Sybian, this [mildly NSFW image may help.](https://sybian.com/product/storage-unit/)
> 
> Title from [Electric Feel by MGMT](https://open.spotify.com/track/3FtYbEfBqAlGO46NUDQSAt?si=IB8jbU-2QjeLbuLHWVvrEg)
> 
> (see end notes re feminization and dirty talk)
> 
> Thanks to my beta, Engineer Supreme.

Bucky’s always been good at following orders.

“Don’t open it,” Steve had said, and that was enough for Bucky.  The new “it” could be called an ottoman, or maybe a stool, Bucky’s not sure.  It’s black leather, or it might be faux-leather, he can’t tell. It’s a black cube the size of an end table, with a padded lid that looks like it would lift off if Bucky dared to touch it.  He hasn’t, not since it appeared in the corner of their spare guest room, the one they don’t actually put guests in. Steve refuses to call it their sex room.

Bucky’s looked at it, though.  Bucky Barnes is a good boy, but he’s still human.  He’d stared at it while Steve had him bent over their spanking bench last week, his hands cuffed together and what Steve calls his “rosy-cheek” grin spread across his face.  It reminds him of one of the storage cubes his college roommate had in their dorm. If it’s just a piece of furniture, it looks out of place with the sleek, modern things Steve favors.  Steve likes soft colors, pale blues and dove grays, “like your eyes, Buck.”

Bucky had caught it out of the corner of his eye while Steve had fucked him half-way across the floor last night, giving Bucky his third orgasm and a temporary out of body experience with a set of nipple clamps.  He’d been close enough to touch it this morning if his hands hadn’t been good-boy clasped behind his back while he gave Steve a good-morning blowjob before he left for a four-day business trip. Bucky had earned a reward and Steve had kissed him goodbye five separate times before leaving for his flight.

But, yeah.  Bucky’s wondered.  It’s easier to keep it out of his mind if he stays busy.  He rolls out a new batch of pate aux choux and takes some styled process photos for The Bucksome Baker.  His Instagram influencer status is modest at best, and it’s not like his sponsorship from Wilton is paying the rent, but it keeps him busy while Steve’s at work.  His puffs come out cheerfully round and perfectly browned. They’ll be good with that earl grey cream he’s got in the fridge. He’s halfway through cleanup when his phone dings.

_Go for your run._

A second later, a map appears with a red-lined route from their house.  Five miles with a loop around the reservoir, nothing too taxing. Steve’s taking it easy on him today.

Bucky changes into some running shorts and a tank top, the orange one with the low neck that Steve likes.  He snaps a picture in front of their hallway mirror and sends it to Steve.

_Yes, sir._

_Good boy_ , Steve replies immediately.

_Call me after you’ve showered._

Bucky types another _Yes, sir_ , then puts a heart emoji after it.

Like everything Steve chooses for him, Bucky’s run isn’t easy, but it leaves him feeling lighter, more calm.  It’s a relief when Steve chooses. Bucky sails around the reservoir, keeping up a good pace so Steve will be proud when he checks Bucky’s time on his phone.

He takes a hot shower when he gets home, trying not to miss Steve too much.  He’s perfectly capable of washing his own hair. It’s just better when Steve does it.  His hair is still dripping wet around the nape of his neck when he calls him.

“Hey, baby.  You made good time on that run.”

Bucky flushes.  It’s not his fault he’s hard-wired to light up every time Steve praises him.

“It wasn’t that bad.  You taking it easy on me ‘cause you miss me?”

“I do miss you,” Steve croons.  “You should see the bathroom in my hotel room.  It’s a crime I can’t fuck you in this shower.”

Bucky laughs.  “Sounds nice. You there now?”

Bucky’s not above a little phone sex.  He pads down the hall to their bedroom, his towel around his waist.

“Not yet.  Just got out of the last meeting for the day.  Fucking waste of time. You still in your towel?” Steve asks, his voice pitching down.

“Yes.”

“Take it off.”

The thought of Steve strolling through some convention center and telling him to strip makes Bucky’s stomach swoop.  His towel drops to the floor.

“Ok.”

“You get yourself nice and clean?”

“Yeah.”

“Bucky,” Steve says, a soft warning in his voice.

“Yes, sir.”  Bucky’s cock starts to throb between his legs.

“That’s my boy.  I’m heading back to my room, and I want you to make a choice about what we’re going to do tonight.”

Choices can be hard, but Steve always gives them to him for a reason.

“Ok, sir.”

“If you just want to take it easy tonight, I’ll pick a movie for us to watch together.  But if you feel like playing, I left you a surprise.”

“Surprise,” Bucky blurts, already flush with excitement.  “I want the surprise, sir.”

“Of course you do,” Steve says, his voice more fond than teasing.  “Now listen carefully. Go into my closet, there are some envelopes on the dresser.  Open the first one and follow the instructions until the end. FaceTime me when you’re finished.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Steve teases, his voice laced with the kind of trouble that makes Bucky warm all over.  “You have any questions for me?”

“No, sir.”

“Ok.  And remember, once you open that envelope we’re not stopping until I say so or I hear your safeword.  You got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright, baby.  I’ll see you in a little bit.”

Steve’s closet is a bastion of cool tones and soft lighting.  Steve doesn’t have much variety in his wardrobe (“I’d rather show you off, Buck”), and the walls are a neatly-hung spectrum of black and blue.  Bucky stands in front of the big dresser and smiles at what he sees.

Where it’s usually bare on the polished oak top, there’s a neat stack of envelopes.  The top one has “Wednesday” printed across the front in Steve’s neat lettering. One of Bucky’s collars sits neatly coiled beside them, with a bottle of lube and a bigger bottle of water.  It’s so neat and finicky and _Steve_.

Bucky slides his finger through the back of the first envelope and rips the top open.  He pulls out a typed page with bullet points filling each side. When did Steve do this?   

Bucky’s eyes skim over the front side of the page, his cheeks flushing and his cock twitching between his legs.  He takes a deep breath and fights the urge to turn it over, sure that Steve wants him to take each task one-by-one.  He runs his finger under the first line.

_Put your collar on._

 There’s nothing magical about a two-inch strip of leather, Bucky knows that.  Even if it’s soft as butter from hours next to his skin, supple from Steve clasping it and tugging it and kissing along the juncture of skin and leather.  Still, just buckling it around his neck sinks something to stillness inside him. Sense-memory is its own kind of magic.

 _Bring this paper, the lube, and the water to the spare room_.

His nose bunches up.  Figures Steve couldn’t bring himself to type “sex room.”  A few more lines of detailed instruction have Bucky leaving his lube and water in very specific places and staring down The Ottoman.

He’s supposed to open it.

The lid’s about six inches thick.  He slides it off and places it aside to reveal another padded surface inside, this one curved.  Steve’s instructions lead him to pull it out and place it on the floor. It reminds Bucky of nothing so much as a mini gymnastics pommel horse without the legs or the handles.  There’s a smooth plastic panel in the middle that doesn’t look particularly comfortable. Bucky frowns and reaches into the empty cube to pull out a manual.

Bucky blinks at the name emblazoned on the front for a solid five seconds.

What the fuck is a Sybian?

Steve’s instructions had told him to read the manual and set up his “gift”, so Bucky flips to the next page.  There’s a picture of a woman in tacky lingerie, her head thrown back in carefully-studied ecstasy as she sits astride the curved part of whatever Bucky had just opened.  Just as Bucky’s wondering what’s so great about a bench with no legs, he turns the page.

 _Oh_.  The assembly instructions show a set of well-manicured hands attaching a rubber cock to the center of the seat.  Bucky - who’d licked his own jizz from Steve’s fingers less than 24 hours ago - blushes furiously. He reaches into the cube again to find a silky drawstring bag nestled inside. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or clench when he pulls out a purple, ribbed dick that swings heavy in his hand.  For all the times he’d stared at the damn thing wondering what it was, “purple-dick hobby horse” had never crossed his mind.

Steve’s waiting on his call.  Bucky takes a deep breath and keeps reading.  He’d always been good at assembling Ikea furniture, although this has less allen keys and more stretchy silicone.  He slides the cock over the plastic piece in the middle of the curved bench until it’s sticking up at a slight angle, and Bucky doesn’t need to read the manual or Steve’s instructions to guess that he’s sitting on that before the night’s through.  

He swallows thickly and pulls a second platform piece out of the bottom of the cube and sets the bench on top of it, raising it off the floor and making it level with the cube once he puts the lid back on top of it.  When he’s finished, there are two pieces -- the curved bench with the cock on it, and the padded stool a few inches in front of it. Bucky finds the nearest outlet, which is perfectly positioned because Steve had probably fucking measured it beforehand.  He plugs the bench portion in and decides not to look at the remote just yet.

When everything is ready, Bucky grabs the lube.

This part is familiar.  Steve likes him ready and waiting when he gets home from work, with dinner on the table and his body prepared for whatever Steve has in mind.

Bucky works himself open on slick fingers, smiling at the soft, familiar ache from Steve’s attentive goodbye this morning.  This is just like getting ready for Steve, like when he puts in one of the plugs Steve leaves for him some mornings. Although none of those run on 220-volt power.

Steve had been specific - of course he had - about Bucky not turning the thing on, so Bucky just positions the remote next to the bench.  It looks like something out of an evil scientist’s lair, two big silver knobs against a black background, with the vaguely ominous and thrilling labels of “vibration” and “rotation.”

He reads through Steve’s instructions one last time to make sure he hasn’t missed anything.  He toys with the small O-ring on the front of his collar, trying to imagine each task in Steve’s firm, soft voice, right down to the last one.

_“FaceTime me once you’ve got it all the way inside you.”_

Trusting that Steve has already put this thing through the dishwasher on Extra Hot, he drizzles some lube over the purple silicone.  Soft ridges jut against his hand, bumping as he twists his wrist to coat the toy.

He straddles the bench and lines himself up, a strange sensation without Steve’s hand firm on his hip.  The toy nudges against him, cool where Steve would be hot and insistent. With one hand behind him holding it firmly in place, Bucky lowers himself the first few inches onto the toy.  The ridges drag against him and he sucks in a breath through his teeth as sparks dance across his skin.

Balanced half-way on his knees, he takes a deep breath and sinks his weight down, sighing more at the sensation than any strain.  He sits on Steve Roger’s dick on the regular, which will make a molehill out of any mountain. The toy’s not as long as Steve, and it’s only a touch thicker, a stretch Bucky adjusts to after a few deep breaths.  He circles his hips to test it, huffing with approval at the textured drag of the toy inside him. Steve may be possessed of a small fortune and a bottomless well of creative affection for Bucky, but even he doesn’t have nifty ridges on his cock.

Bucky swipes over Steve’s name and smiles.

“There’s my boy.”

Steve’s broad smile is soft in the lamplight of his hotel room.  Just seeing Steve sends a surge of warmth over Bucky. His jacket and tie are gone, leaving his collar open just enough for Bucky to see the neckline of his undershirt.

“Did you have any trouble setting up your surprise?”

“No, sir.”  Bucky bites his lip and stretches his arm out and up, making sure to give Steve a full view of him seated on the Sybian.  Steve blows out a breath through his lips.

“Oh, good boy.”

It’s like a scratch behind Bucky’s ear.  Muscles he didn’t know he’d been tensing relax as Steve looks at him with open hunger in his eyes.

“You like the dick I picked out for you?  Wasn’t too big, huh?” Steve’s teasing him, a familiar wry smile on his face.

“Course not.  I took it easy,” Bucky says, bringing the phone closer so Steve can see him drag his tongue over his lips.

“Yeah, you did.  You know why?” Steve’s eyebrows go up, awaiting a response.

Bucky knows why, but all he says is “Why, sir?”

Steve indulges him, smiling.  “Because you’re a good little slut for me.  Say it.”

Bucky melts, going hard and soft all at once as his cock throbs between his legs.  He won’t touch himself until Steve says to, but the way Steve looks at him is as good as a hand around his dick.

“I’m a good little slut for you, sir.”

“Rest your phone on the stool so I can see all of you.”

Bucky pops up the stand on the back of his phone and places it in front of him where Steve can get a good view.

“Can you move?”

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together as he shifts his hips.  He rises up an inch, enough to make the toy drag a moan out of him.  He can’t get enough purchase using just his legs so he leans forward onto the stool, balancing on his forearms.  He frames Steve’s face between his arms, smiling softly at the rapt look on Steve’s face.

“Yeah, if I go like this.”

“Fuck, your tits look good like that,” Steve says, leering at the way Bucky’s arms have pressed his pecs together.

“You’re so fucking pretty, Buck.  Want to see you fuck yourself for me.”

Bucky nods, open-mouthed, and rolls his hips like he’s got Steve’s waist between his knees instead of a piece of hard-wired furniture.

“Feel good, baby?”

“Yes, sir.” Bucky draws himself up and sinks down, fucking himself in rhythm with the short, tight huffs of his own breath.

“Feel as good as my cock?”

“No,” Bucky says earnestly, not letting up even as he shakes his head. “Nothing’s as good.”

“As good as what, Bucky?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow.  “Use your words.”

“Nothing’s a good as your cock, sir.”

“I know, baby, I know,” Steve hums, and Bucky feels the phantom pressure of Steve’s hand in his hair where he’d be petting him if he were there.

“I’m sorry I’m not there to take care of you.”

The ring of Bucky’s collar clinks softly as he rides his toy.  He keeps his eyes on Steve. Bucky doesn’t need to glance down to know he’s hard.

“That’s why I bought you your present.  Now slow down, take it all the way for me.”

Bucky’s cheeks flush red hot as he settles down, each ribbed line of the toy dragging hot against his insides.  He keeps his arms pressed together against his chest, making his tits stand out for Steve.

“Good boy.  You ready to see what this thing can do?”

Bucky’s head is already fuzzy, the good kind of undertow where he dissolves into Steve’s directions.

“Yes, sir.”

“Get the remote.”  Steve could say “fly to the moon” and Bucky would obey just as quickly.  He reaches down for the black box, settling it in his hand as he leans back.

“That’s a pretty picture,” Steve says, licking his lips as Bucky’s full figure comes back into view.

Bucky ducks his head as his dick twitches.

“Turn the rotation on and up to one.”

Bucky finds the right dial, cranks it with a dull click and almost immediately drops the controller.

“Jesus,” Bucky spits as the toy starts to move inside him.  It undulates in soft waves, grazing against his sweet spot until his cock throbs in time with the movement.

It feels good, the way bouncing on Steve’s cock when Steve smacks his ass and tells him to “Get after it” feels good - all the reward of the tight, sharp circles Bucky usually has to make with his hips, but none of the work.  He looks down, panting from open lips as a blurt of precome oozes out of his dick.

“That’s it, sweetheart.  Now the same thing with the vibration.”

It’s not like Bucky’s never had a vibrator or two up his ass before.  Steve likes his toys, especially if they make Bucky come until his eyes roll back in his head.  Bucky knows what a vibe feels like, and calling the thing between his legs a “vibrator” is like asking for a match and getting a roman candle instead.  

He doesn’t have a chance to catch his breath before a wave of something too sharp to be pleasure and too soft to be pain blooms up his spine.  It spreads out over his skin in a ricochet that makes his toes curl into the carpet and every muscle in his body tense.

“Steve,” Bucky gasps, and he barely makes it past the ‘V’ before he’s on fire, he’s on fucking _fire_ and he can’t see and the only sound is a crashing hum in his ears.  He barely notices when something wet and warm hits his chin.

“Bucky,” Steve barks, his voice cutting through the cotton wool in Bucky’s head.

“Oh fuck. _Fuck_ ,” Bucky pants, blinking his eyes open and forcing his hands out of the tight fists they’ve clenched themselves into.  He’s shaking all over.

“Bucky,” Steve says again, and when Bucky’s eyes finally focus on his phone, Steve’s leaning forward with his elbows resting on his spread thighs, his face stuck somewhere between awe-struck and horrified.

“Did you just fucking come?”

Bucky glances down at his dick like it’s going to answer the question for him.  Over the rise and fall of his unsteady breathing, Bucky’s eyes widen at the streak of white slowly oozing down his left pec.  He brings a shaking hand to his neck, touching a patch of slick wetness. _Fuck_.

That’s one of the rules, one of the Big Rules.  Bucky doesn’t say bad things about himself, Bucky drinks eight glasses of water a day, and Bucky doesn’t come without permission.  It doesn’t matter if Bucky’s in sweatpants while they make out on the couch, or tied up like a shibari pretzel at their favorite club, or in the shower by himself or clinging to consciousness while he hangs off Steve’s dick.  Bucky doesn’t come without Steve’s say-so. He hasn’t fucked up in … Ever? Years? Years.

“I didn’t, I didn’t mean to, I’ll turn it off –” He reaches for the dropped remote, desperate to silence the pulse of the toy.

“No.”

Bucky freezes, the edge in Steve’s voice slicing through his mounting panic and the incessant quake of the cock inside him.  

“Rules are rules, Buck.”  Steve clucks his tongue and frowns at the camera.

“Look at what a mess you’ve made.”

Bucky drags two fingers along his neck, catching some of the tacky streaks of his own come that are settling to pool in the hollow of his throat.  His hand trembles as he stares at it. It’s a struggle just to stay upright.

“Clean it up.”

Bucky’s used to the salty taste of himself, but it’s usually presented as a reward. Bucky drags his shaking fingers over the sticky evidence of his failure, scooping it off his chest and sucking his fingers clean again before going back for more.  Steve watches him, stone-faced, his eyes sharp as Bucky’s skin veers from cold sweat to fever flush. This should be Steve’s cock inside him, riding him past his first orgasm, Steve’s mouth licking along the wet peak of his nipple, Steve’s tongue tracing down the curve of his come-streaked stomach.  Bucky swallows it like punishment, licking his fingers clean until all he can taste is sweat.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“I know you are, baby.”

Steve’s still making his disappointed face, the one that twists Bucky’s heart until his chest hurts.

“That’s why I have to punish you.”

Bucky nods, ready to do anything Steve tells him – a hundred push-ups, clean the entire bathroom with a q-tip, eat his dinner off the floor for the next month – anything to ease the steel cable circling around his ribs.

“Anything, sir.”

Steve nods at him, his lips in a tight smile.  The image on Bucky’s phone tilts as Steve sets his phone down in front of him.  He leans back against the overstuffed chair and unbuttons the cuff of his right sleeve, rolling it up in careful folds.  There’s nothing but the soft hum of the Sybian as Bucky waits, his skin humming and his balls beating out an aching pulse between his legs.  He searches Steve’s face for any hint of instruction, any cue that Steve is going to silence the wrung-out shake of his body before the toy buzzing inside him drives him insane.  Steve does the other side, taking his sweet time to turn his cuff and push it up his forearm.

Sweat beads on Bucky’s forehead.

“What do you want me to do, sir?”

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere.”

Steve reaches past the camera, giving Bucky a clear view of the muscled underside of his forearm before he pulls back with a glass of ice water.  He swirls the glass, letting the cubes clink as he finally - _finally_ \- turns his gaze back to Bucky.

“You’re just gonna sit there and look pretty for me.”  Steve brings one leg up, resting his ankle on the opposite knee, and leans back in his chair.

There’s nowhere Bucky can move that offers him any relief, no angle where the toy inside him isn’t grazing over something oversensitive and his skin doesn’t feel two sizes too small.  Leaning back, pitching forward, it’s all the same, too much pressure where he still hasn’t recovered from his first orgasm.

“Got to learn to control yourself, Buck.”

Steve takes a sip of his water, as cool and collected as Bucky is strung out and falling apart.

“You come again without permission, you’re not gonna come for a month.”

Steve is nothing if not a man of his word.

“I won’t, sir, promise.”

“Good.  Grab the remote.”

Bucky pulls it up by the wire off the floor.

“Turn the vibe up to three.”

Bucky pauses over the dial, a whine in his throat.

“Steve – ”

“You can do it.”

Bucky slides the dial up slowly, trying to look pathetic enough to milk some sympathy out of Steve. All he gets is an expectant eyebrow.

It’s better ratcheted up slowly.  Each turn of the dial ramps up the relentless buzz inside him.  He’s all raw nerve, going numb and oversensitive by turns. He can feel himself clutching around the toy, stuck somewhere between _Get It Out_ and _God, More_.  He braces himself with one hand on the stool and wishes Steve weren’t just a tiny image on his phone.

“Good boy.  Got to get you used to this.  Just breathe.”

Bucky takes a few shaky breaths as Steve sprawls out to watch him, legs spread wide now.  Those big hands would hold him steady, keep him pressed to Steve’s chest where everything’s warm and safe.  Steve’s face drifts in and out of focus as Bucky rasps out staccato breaths. He’s going to shake apart on this thing.

“Play with your tits for me.”

Steve’s hands would do that, too.  Bucky bites his lip and slides his hands up his ribs.  He’s too jittery to make it look as sexy as he wants, but Steve still groans when he cups his tits in his hands and squeezes.

“Good fucking boy.  Push ‘em together for me.”

Bucky presses, drawing a sharp breath through his teeth.  Steve inches forward on his chair, hand sliding down to cup his cock through his pants.  Steve knows how sensitive he is.

“I shouldn’t have left you all alone, huh?  No, you’re too greedy,” Steve says, grinding the heel of his palm against his fly.  Bucky’s mouth waters.

“Blow your load the second you get something in that wet little pussy.”

“Fuck,” Bucky whines, his tongue too thick to swallow the full-body shudder that runs through him.

“It’s been - what, twelve hours since you’ve had this dick and you’re already a fucking mess?”

Bucky’s not sure if he ever went soft, but he’s so hard it hurts now.  It all hurts, the build of pressure at the base of his spine, the overload of every nerve in his body skittering across his skin, the pound of his own blood in his ears, how fucking bad he wants Steve’s hands on him.

“Please,” Bucky sobs, trusting Steve to know what he’s begging for, because Bucky damn well doesn’t.

“I’ll take care of you when I get home, baby. I promise.”

“ _Steve_.”  Bucky might say it a few times, might be babbling, or maybe he just throws his head back as he pinches at one of his nipples.  God, he could fucking come again, right now.

“Take such good care of you.”  Steve slides his belt open and eases his zipper down, all without taking his eyes off Bucky.

“Gonna fuck your mouth while you ride that cock for me.”  Steve’s hand slides into his pants as he shifts himself just enough to get his cock out.

“Maybe I’ll fuck you first, hm? Load you up good, keep that little pussy full while I fuck your face.”

Bucky’s fingers flex, digging into his chest until he can feel the blunt bite of his fingernails.  He loves Steve like this, fully clothed while Bucky’s naked at his feet, big dick out while he runs his fucking mouth.

“Open your mouth, show me that other hole.”

Bucky stretches his lips wide, lets his tongue slide past his lower lip.  Tits up, mouth open, on display for Steve - Bucky’s gonna fucking die if he doesn’t come soon.  Bucky could do this forever.

“So empty, isn’t it, baby?”

Bucky nods, a barely coordinated motion that leaves him staring at Steve’s dick without a trace of shame.

“Just trade you back and forth, keep that slutty cunt stuffed up for me until I’m ready to use it again.”

Bucky’s throat clicks, trying to swallow but he’s too late.  Drool slides out of the corner of his mouth and threads down his chest.

“Perfect little slut,” Steve growls, his hand stripping his cock.

“You’re gonna come for me, Buck, come while you make a mess all over yourself.”

Steve’s name doesn’t sound like anything at all as Bucky groans it open-mouthed.  He pinches at his nipples, his eyes falling closed as he imagines the countless times Steve’s stood behind him doing just this, the ghost of Steve’s breath on his neck, Steve’s hand firm in his hair, Steve’s lips against his ear.   _Come for me, Bucky_.

It doesn’t quite hit his chin, but Bucky still sees stars.  Steve’s voice blurs to a wave of praise and pet names, then the guttural sounds he always makes when he comes.

“Look at me, Buck.”

Steve always likes when his eyes roll back in his head.  Dazed, giddy, Bucky blinks until Steve’s face swims back into focus on his phone.

“What do you say?”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Turn if off now, Buck.”

Bucky’s head is still muzzy and it takes him a good minute to find the remote on the side of the Sybian.   _Sybian_ , that’s not a word Bucky’s used to thinking.  He giggles.

“That’s right, sweetheart, both knobs.”

 _You said knobs_ is a thought Bucky manages to keep to himself, because Steve’s teasing about Bucky when he’s dick-drunk is bad enough already.

Everything goes still when he clicks the controller off.  The room feels so quiet, empty without Steve’s big body and his endless patience.

“Hey, look at me, look at me,” Steve says, his face taking up Bucky’s entire phone screen.  Bucky leans toward him, resting his arms on the stool once again. Steve likes his tits like this.

“You did so good, you know that?”

Bucky bites his lip, absurdly wishing his could kiss his phone.

“Say it.”

“I did good,” Bucky repeats back, his voice coming out hoarse and quiet.

“Mm-hm.  And who do you belong to?”

“You, Stevie.”

Every time, every single time, Steve has him say it.  And every time, Bucky’s whole chest swells with it.

“Yeah, you do.  Never letting you go.”

They breathe together for a few moments, thousands of miles away but together in this at least.

“Drink the water bottle you brought in.”

Steve’s voice is still so gentle.  Bucky can just reach the bottle, right where he’d left it next to the lube.  He cracks the top and drains it, surprised at how thirsty he is. Of course Steve had thought of that.

“Gonna need you to get off now, Bucky.”

“Just did. Twice.”

Steve’s not there to spank him, but he’ll probably remember when he gets home.

“Get off the _machine_ , you fucking brat.”

Bucky smiles and eases himself off.  He’s tender, sure, but Steve’s left him worse for wear on an average weeknight.

“Can you stand up or do you need to rest for a while?”

Bucky’s legs are half-jello when he pushes himself to his feet, but he can stay on them well enough.

“I’m good.”

“Yeah, you are.”

He grabs his phone and gives Steve a mock-glare for being such a sap.

“Go to our room.”

Bucky walks with phone in front of him, wobbling with as much dignity as he can muster.  It’s not much. He flicks on one of the bedside lamps, casting shadows over the dark gray walls of their bedroom.

“Your towel still in there?”

Bucky glances at the floor until he sees the pale blue puddle of his towel.  He nods at Steve’s image.

“Clean yourself up the best you can.”

Bucky wipes the towel across his stomach and up to his chest.  He wrinkles his nose as he wipes a wet stripe on his neck. At least Steve likes it when he drools on himself.

“Get on the bed.”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky says, being only half a smart-ass as he drops the towel like he’s doing a striptease.

“Good thing you’re cute.”  Steve rolls his eyes. “Look under your pillow.”

Bucky settles his phone on Steve’s side of the bed and flips his pillow over.

Lined up in a neat row under his pillow are a bag of chocolate-covered almonds, a folded t-shirt, and another bottle of water, as though Bucky might die of dehydration without Steve by his side for a day.

“This isn’t my shirt,” Bucky says, unfolding a faded gray Fordham t-shirt that’s two sizes bigger than anything of Bucky’s.

“I know.”

It’s Steve’s shirt.  Before Steve can say anything else, Bucky crumples it to his face and smells it.  It’s Steve’s _dirty_ shirt.  Bucky peers over it so he can look at Steve.

“Want you to sleep in it.”

Bucky slips it over his head.  It’s old and soft and it smells so good.  Bucky wraps his arms around his chest and smiles.

“Thanks.”

Steve wants to watch him eat his almonds, because Steve is a 220-pound mother hen.  Bucky’s stomach might rumble with interest a few times. He washes it down with the water and curls onto his side, the soft light from his phone reflecting blue across their pinstriped sheets.

“So if I hadn’t picked your surprise, I was just supposed to go to sleep and find a dirty t-shirt and some snacks under my pillow?”

“Like there was a chance in hell you weren’t picking my surprise.”

“Fair enough,” Bucky says.  He snuggles into his pillow and fiddles with the O-ring on his collar.  Steve glances at it and smiles.

“You want to take it off or sleep in it?”

“Sleep.”

“Show me.”

Bucky slides two fingers under the leather, to reassure Steve he isn’t going to choke himself to death by accident while he’s sleeping.  The only choking that happens in the Rogers-Barnes household is very much on purpose.

“Good boy.  What are you doing tomorrow?”

“You already know,” Bucky mumbles, tugging Steve’s pillow close and wrapping his arms around it.  Steve has Bucky’s schedule in his calendar.

“I know, but I want you to tell me.”

Bucky sighs indulgently.  “I’m going to yoga, then I have the photoshoot with Wanda.  I’m making pretzel buns.”

Bucky’s being featured on Kitchn’s Pride post about queer foodie bloggers, because being gay and liking bread are two of his most noteworthy talents.  It’s also the reason he’s not on Steve’s trip, so Bucky has only middling interest in it right now.

“Mmm, save me some.”

“They won’t be good when you get back.  I’ll make you fresh ones.”

“I want that apple thing, too, what’s it called?”

Steve knows it’s called a galette, and Steve thinks he’s real slick making Bucky talk about inane bullshit until he’s not floating around in his headspace.  Bucky tucks his head and noses against the shoulder of Steve’s shirt.

“Apple galette, dummy.  You want it with the salted caramel?”

“Of course.”

Steve rolls his eyes, making one of his corny Dad faces.  God, Bucky hates when they have to spend nights apart.

“You feeling ok?”

“Miss you.  But yeah, I’m ok.  I’m tired.” Bucky burrows further into his pillow.

“Miss you, too, baby.”

Steve kisses the air.  Steve’s a nasty motherfucker in the thick of things, but he’s as sweet and corny as a prom date in the afterglow.  Bucky kisses him back.

“I’ll call you at seven to wake you up.  Goodnight, good boy.”

Bucky slides his finger into the ring of his collar and smiles at Steve.

“Night, sir.”

Bucky swipes his phone off and rolls onto his stomach, nestling down into the softness of his Steve-shirt.  He curls around the pillow and looks over the foot of the bed at Steve’s closet. It doesn’t make him miss Steve less, but at least he has something to be excited about in his absence.

He still has two more envelopes to open.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feminization of the "wet little pussy" variety. Steve uses the word "slut" as a term of endearment. There are passing references to spanking and choking.


End file.
